


The Monster Knows The Way

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Monster Under The Bed [4]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Human, Anesthesia, Angst, Blindfolds, Dehydration, Drugs, Humiliation, Imprisonment, Intimidation, Jonathan is sassy as fuck, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medically inspired insults, Psychological Torture, Redgrave never stops being a damn creep, Restraints, Situational Humiliation, Starvation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Jonathan runs afoul Ascalon and is forced into a corner by the shadow organization that abducts him right out of the sanctity of Pembroke Hospital. His only hope for freedom lies in Geoffrey.orJonathan faces the threat of death and sasses Lord Redgrave the entire time with increasingly more creative insults. He has nothing left to live for, so why not?
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: Monster Under The Bed [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760143
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	The Monster Knows The Way

A few weeks had passed since Jonathan returned from the well needed break, though he was just as eager to get back to work than ever before. Edgar watched him with a slow shake of his head as he approved him to resume work once more, signing off on the paperwork. Despite his absence, Jonathan dove right back into the deep end of his duties, starting with a case that led to an emergency surgery. There was two assisted surgeries where he stood alongside Dr. Ackroyd and aided him, and one very mysterious case of fainting spells that was deduced to have been caused by poor nutrition.

Having had the opportunity to come to terms with the specter that followed him through his day to day routine, he found comfort in the subtle touch of a hand on his shoulder and the spasm of muscles in his back when Geoffrey drew near. He would even go so far as to say Geoffrey had given him a heightened awareness of his surroundings and the people that surrounded him. He was keen to the subtle body language and changing moods of his colleagues as he navigated the late shift hours at the hospital.

He resumed his house calls as per usual, and greeted the familiar friendly faces of old patients from the years before he disembarked for the frontlines. Geoffrey followed him, a liquid shadow that disappeared around corners and reappeared in ominously lit doorways. A flutter of wings in the night that sheltered him in the early morning hours as he was ushered up the steps to his home and towards bed. He tried to spend more time at home, in the comfort of his own bed but some days dragged him through longer shifts causing him to crash into his small cramped cot shoved into the corner of his office.

He’d wake to Geoffrey chastising him about skipping breakfast as he forced himself through the routine of cleaning up and resuming rounds, or being pulled half awake into a surgery for an emergency arrival. The most recent was a dock hand who had a leg severed at the knee by machinery after he slipped. After three hours, they managed to save the man but his leg was a lost cause.

Nurse Crane saw to the patient in a recovery room where his condition was being closely monitored, meanwhile Jonathan took the time on his own to clean up the mess. Of course, it was an assigned task to Nurses’ Hawkins and Branagan, but he felt restless and had no appointments this evening. Taking his time, he reorganized the equipment and counted inventory in the surgery which was a breath of fresh air, an idle task that allowed him to think without interruption.

Being back was a relief on its own, otherwise he was beginning to fear he would go stir crazy in his own home. Clarence could only offer so much distraction before he became exhausting. Don’t get him wrong, Jonathan adored and loved his best friend dearly, but there was only so much energy he could spare to entertain his friend every single day.

Even so, he couldn’t help his thoughts drifting to the days spent in the quiet evenings with Geoffrey keeping him company. The strange turn of events as he started to remember more of his life that had seemingly gone forgotten, swept away from his mind until the tender caring hands guided him through those feverish lonely nights. Jonathan had been afraid of that miserable loneliness over the years, had fretted late into the nights about what will become of him when everyone he knows passes on? He has no one left to keep his day to day a little less miserable. He lived for his work and nothing more, once upon a time that wasn’t much of an issue as his research and his passion took him across several continents as he taught and treated people from all walks of life, but now that he was aging and wanted to settle down in London, he found the lives of others had moved on without him. They were having families and he was sitting in a big empty house with no one left to fill it.

Thirty-eight years old was a long time for an unmarried man this day and age. His poor sweet mother hadn’t the opportunity to see him fall in love and have a family, a regret he wished he could fix though he knew well enough that had he had the chance to change it, he probably would make the exact same choices again.

It made it that much more painfully pathetic that his only solace in this long lonely life was a specter he could only see half the time and a best friend who fretted constantly about his welfare. He was certain that one of these days, he was going to find Clarence moved into his guest bedroom with Venus tailing close behind to keep tabs on him. He certainly wouldn’t put it past his friend.

Jonathan was drawn from his deep thoughts as his back spasmed in that knowing way, the soft patter of footsteps approached from behind. He smiled quietly to himself as he laid his tools out, freshly sterilized and placed in their designated drawer. He was nearly finished when he felt the brush of a hand at his back, a tightness radiated in his spine in a brief flash of alarm bells that sounded with the unfamiliar presence before an arm wrapped around him quickly. Jonathan knocked into the small metal table holding the scalpels and shears he was putting away, sending them flying as he scrambled for a weapon to defend himself. His fingers curled around a pair of forceps as a gas mask was placed over his face and anesthesia gas rushed into his lungs with panicked breaths. He felt his limbs go heavy and his vision started to blur as the drug took affect.

“Easy now Doc.” A gruff voice cursed in his ear as he was manhandled back off of his feet.

He saw the brief flash of a second body, a figure disguised in the same white garbs of hospital staff, their jackets were unmarked but passed at first glance for the unwary or uninterested. He felt the strong arms of strange men peel his coat off of him and lay him down on an adjacent clean hospital bed. The lights caused his eyes to water with their new sensitivity before the soft touch of bandages were promptly wrapped around his head as a makeshift blindfold. The forceps slipped from his fingertips as his body stilled and his eyelids fluttered shut, clanging loudly on the cold tile floor below. He heard muffled voices as they scrambled, clicking and moving things around the room causing mild annoyance in the doctor who had just spent the last hour organizing everything. The sound of straps and buckles rattled as they proceeded to secure his limbs in place and threw a blanket over his body to hide the evidence of their dirty work.

It wasn’t until the wheels squeaked and he felt the cooler air of the hallways brushing past his face that he realized he was being taken somewhere. Jonathan’s fear was sharp as his heart started beating against his ribs as terror crept along his spine. Were they truly abducting him? What horrors did they have planned for him?

As the men pushed him along the halls, he heard the idle conversation of his colleagues as they wandered past. Jonathan silently screamed for their attention, begging for someone to notice he was being carted off to who knows where? Would this be the end of him, he was frightened to wonder. He tried to will his body to work but was more than aware of how the state of intraoperative awareness worked on patients. The startling and terrifying ability to be fully aware of his surroundings and yet he couldn’t move and in rare instances, speak, to warn those around him of what was happening. A drug induced paralysis, one he had induced numerous times on hundreds of patients himself, now thwarted his own efforts as the medical cocktail circulated throughout his system.

The bed jostled as they crossed a threshold, the wheels forced to overcome the sizable hump in the terrain as cold air snuck against his exposed neck and cheeks, tousling through his hair around the bandages that concealed his identity from the world. They were outside, he could tell that much by the smell in the air and the considerable temperature drop. He felt his stomach twist up in chaotic knots as he was presumably placed inside what he assumed was a lorry by the sound of metal scraping on metal. He grimaced inwardly as the tail bed slammed loudly in the late evening air, and the engine rumbled to life. It was certainly eye opening to know he had been taken from the heart of Pembroke Hospital without any of the staff noticing his disappearance or the shabby attempt his assailants made to disguise themselves. If he survived this ordeal, he was going to have a stern talking to Edgar about the Hospital’s security standards.

The engine roared and sputtered to life causing him to shake as the vehicle rattled along. He gave way under the pull of the drugs as time warped and molded together in one extensive and miserable puddled that rippled and lapped at his mind. A distortion of minutes dragging agonizingly long and yet far too short altogether, as before long, he felt the vehicle come to a stop and he was being moved once more. Time lapsed, his mind struggled to keep up without the constant sounds around him to focus on. There was muffled voices, posh West Ender accents that sounded far too familiar for his nerves before everything fell into silence once more. With nothing to keep his attention, Jonathan felt himself slipping to the artificial weariness that coursed through his veins.

  
  
  


Fear was a fatal bullet that lanced through his thoughts when a door opened loudly by his side. The hinges screeched in protest as footsteps approached quickly. His eyes flew open only to find the makeshift blindfold hadn't been removed, and neither had his restraints if the tight ache of leather on his bare skin was any answer. Jonathan was at least pleased to know he had regained some agency of his limbs as the drug faded but it wasn't enough to make him feel stable or certain enough to orchestrate an escape.

He tilted his head, ears straining to make out how many assailants had entered exactly. There was a cold touch of fingers to his wrist, a thumb that rolled over his pulse point fondly, causing his anxiety to rise with a lead weight balancing in the base of his belly. The touch lingered far too long to be innocent before it finally drew away.

"Magnificent work, gentlemen." The man by his side praised with delight. An illustrious and regal tone that exceeded even the most bold of aristocratic heritage in its sheer excessiveness. A claim that only the esteemed Lord Redgrave, chairman of the infamous Ascalon club, could accurately make with all the chivalry of a peacock on it's way to being plucked. This was not his first encounter with the man in question nor his second. Lord Redgrave was a determined thorn in Jonathan's side for years, long before his service in the war, he had extended numerous invitations to the notable doctor and surgeon about membership to the club in question, which Jonathan had at first politely declined then pointedly ignored, no longer caring to even entertain the Lord's continuous strutting and flaunting with an answer. It was downright humiliating, he was certain, for a man of his self-proclaimed stature to be dismissed so easily by a lowly and humble civil servant like Jonathan. He had expected some ruffled feathers and maybe a sharp tongued rumor or two about him, but abduction? Assault?  _ Really, Lord Redgrave? _ It felt highly unnecessary and immensely childish.

"Dr. Jonathan Reid, my how you have changed over the years." Lord Redgrave sounded amused, as if the chilling and unnerving fact that Ascalon itself was across from his childhood home didn't make the observation any less alarming. The man had been watching him, that was obvious. Jonathan wasn't so naive to miss the sensation of eyes on his back as he'd come and go on the daily basis, or the subtle parted curtains in what he presumed to be the Lord's office as he peered out at the rest of London with scorn.

There was a gentle touch of fingers hooking his jaw, forcing the doctor to lift his head and presumably face him more directly. Jonathan wondered if they were going to remove the blindfold but the feather light brush of knuckles against the padding over his cheekbone were a faint trace of motion that had no intention of giving him sight again.

“The war was unkind to you.” He traced his thumb over the scarring under his eye, barely present with the wrapping as he softly nudged it out of the way. “You certainly take your charm after your father, Aubrey, but you have your mother’s eyes.”

There was a grimace of disgust that rose like a flicker on Jonathan’s face but that was all he could offer in his sluggish and inebriated state. Lord Redgrave ignored the display as he lowered his hand to brush the length of the doctor’s bare arm thoughtfully. Jonathan’s sleeves had been rolled up out of the way to make space for the leather straps as they rubbed his wrists until they were red and sore. He didn’t recall fighting them recently but the sting was present at the slightest movement.

“It would appear your accommodations were already arranged by my associates. I hope you’re comfortable Dr. Reid, cause you’re going to be here for a long stay.” Lord Redgrave gave a haughty laugh before turning away to leave. There was more than one set of steps that receded with him, his cronies falling in line behind him as they left and the door creaked loudly as it slammed shut. There was a resounding click, hollow and terrifying as it sealed the doctor in this dark little cell he was confined to.

Jonathan felt the painful sting of loneliness as silence consumed him in this mind numbing state. It was oppressive and terrifying, more so with the knowledge that not a single soul had seen him be swept away, no one noticed their cruel thievery and stepped up to save him from these brash actions. In the place he had felt the safest in all his years abroad, in the very room in which he sought after his passion and found his truest self, he had been taken, the sanctity of his sacred ground violated by their transgressions and now he would remain until Lord Redgrave declared his demands and explained the wicked motives that drove him to act as such. What could the man who presumably had everything, want with him of all people?

It certainly wasn’t the money. No, the Reid family was wealthy but he was certain the coffers of Ascalon and their related members were overflowing with old money tainted with the blood of centuries. It was a rare occurrence that such lavish lifestyles could be fueled by honest work. London, and England as a whole has prospered and fed upon the backs of others for hundreds of years, a dastardly history that no illustrious and aged names could truly escape unscathed.

His own family, he assumed, was no different in that regard. Blood stained the hands of all these days, with innocences a scarcity known only in the eyes of children spurred on by the like minded and simplistic fairy tales that drew their adoring gaze and alighted their bright and every wonderous minds. How much he wished to return to that easy and ignorant life he lived, with a family intact and the lives surrounding him burning brightly with the warmth of true unbidden love, lacking the bitterness and frivolity of the scornful glances that dared to breach his humble abode.

Could it be power? Though, if Lord Redgrave wanted that, there was a plethora of other well to do and influential people within the confines of the hospital and he would even go so far as to point out, the West End and other parts of London as a whole. Edgar Swansea and his exceeding connections with the medical and scientific community alone should have been enough to sate the Lord’s interests. So unless Lord Redgrave had taken a sudden intrigue in blood transfusion techniques or wanted Jonathan to cure him of his insufferable cephalgia, the good doctor could inform him that a sure fix would be the extrication of his cranium from the rectal cavity should suffice, allowing for improved oxygen flow to the brain.

As amusing as the thought would be, it did manage to warm his spirits as he focused on other interests instead of wallowing in the self-pity of being trapped in god knows where. Judging by the musty smell in the air, he could only assume it was a cellar of sorts. He wasn’t certain if he was below the Ascalon club or if Lord Redgrave had enough common sense to contain him in another location away from the fragile constitution of his guests. Though, even if he had been stashed beneath the esteemed floorboards of the club itself, rarely did members of their ilk ever snoop and Jonathan himself had never traversed the supposedly sacred halls of the institution. To which, to put it crassly, he truly did not give a rats ass about.

Maybe he should have handled it with more tact or had taken a more direct initiative in declining the numerous requests for his presence. Perhaps publicly humiliating the lot of them would get his final decision to stick on their fickle minds, and it could probably stay there once and for all. No matter, there was little to do about it now except plot his escape. The war had taught him more than a few tricks, he could only beg mercy on the world as a whole that the men who nabbed him lacked common sense enough. Trying to twist his arms free was a wretched and miserable task as the leather straps rubbed at his skin, leaving long rash like irritation.

The  _ least  _ they could have done was pad the restraints. They were  _ right there.  _ One thing was for certain, they certainly lacked the common sense to apply padded precautions when the utilities were right at their disposal. Leave it to amateurs truly. He tilted his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he focused on the placement of the straps and attempted to ease his wrist past the leather restraints. Too much pull would leave worse tracks on his skin, not enough wouldn’t slide it down properly, but if he could pin the leather between his body and the metal frame of the bed, he could get enough leverage to free his hand.

His efforts were rewarded with progress but it was wholly exhausting as he navigated the darkness of his mind, creating the imaginary imagery of the restraints using what familiar variables he could mentally map out. It slipped, quite often when he was close to freedom. Biting the bottom of his lip in concentration, he almost had it free, the leather clenched tightly around the middle of his hand, caught on the knuckle of his thumb when the door swung open with a startling force that undid his progress entirely. His teeth clicked together, digging into the tender skin of his lip and pinching it until it bled over his tongue. He hissed under his breath and tilted his head to search for the sounds that warned of heavy ominous footsteps. A hand gripped his throat, fingers so massive they completely encircled his neck and applied a suffocating pressure that made him gasp in shock.

“Ack!” Jonathan choked, his lips parted to suck in a sharp breath, blood spread across the damaged skin making them shiny and sticky. He felt the pressure of fingertips resting beneath his pulse point, a thumb that probed at his jugular, feeling the way his heart thundered in his chest despite his desperate attempt to remain calm. Fear was an instinctive reaction, a feral response he struggled to withhold as the pressure built up, not enough to cut off oxygen altogether but a measured force that made his rational mind panic and fall to disarray as it screamed that he would die. That this man was going to kill him. His wrists jerked against the restraints, a natural reflexive response out of self-preservation that Jonathan had to stomp down to think clearly and concisely. This was a warning, nothing more. Someone like Lord Redgrave wouldn’t let him be irreparably harmed if he wanted something. This sort of torture simply wasn’t his style.

The press of lips against the curve of his ear was a startling sensation as hot breath beat down on his neck. He stiffened, his teeth ground together until his jaw ached with a similar sympathetic pain. His head started to spin with dizzying whirls as the darkness of the blindfold was splashed in bright bursts of color and white pops like stars dancing across his vision.

“Ascalon is the law and I will be the instrument of your righteous punishment. Lord Redgrave has need of you  _ worm _ , but Ascalon can survive without you. What Lord Redgrave offers is a show of good will, but complacency is not something that will be tolerated and neither will infidelity.” The man spoke sternly in his ear, words bitten sharp and twisted up into a wickedness that betrayed what felt like a smile. Jonathan smothered the shiver of discontent that threatened to snake down his spine and held his ground with defiance to bend to the will of sadistic puppeteers. No matter their methods, he was prepared for similar threats during the war and that fact had not changed.

As quickly as it came, it let up and he was able to draw in a sharp gasping breath, followed by another. His entire body quaked with unsettling tremors as he listened over the thunderous beat of his heart roaring frantically against his ribcage, the sound of slow measured footsteps receded but still remained in the room with him. Then there was a grating ear piercing sound like metal on stone as something was dragged along the hard ground before settling. There was prolonged silence for several agonizing minutes until he heard the prominent heel-to-toe stomp of the strange threatening man leave the room for good. The door banged shut behind him causing Jonathan to jolt and tuck his head against his shoulder to shield his ears.

Jonathan waited several minutes for the silence to remain uninterrupted and only then did he resume his earlier attempts at freedom. His wrist felt painfully raw as he worked the leather strap free, finally getting to the point he had it before and slowly, with intense concentration, managed to finally get it over the knuckle or his thumb and free his hand completely. He ran his tongue over his bloody lip and let his head fall back for a moment of joyous relief before quickly fumbling with the buckles securing his other arm in place. 

He made quick work to free his other hand then followed it up by removing the blindfold and abandoning it to the sheets on the bed before working to free his legs from the infuriating straps. He may have taken a moment to relax, blinking the bleariness from his eyes that being blindfolded for hours often left behind, trying to focus and balance himself, he searched the small room he was trapped in. 

There was a sturdy metal frame chair in the center of the room, presumably what the intimidating man had been moving earlier. A wooden bucket sat in the corner, ringed at the bottom with red stains and beside it was a table scratched and dinged up from abuse. It looked like it often held tools for inevitable use but they were absent currently. The implication made Jonathan's chest tighten with a jarring jolt of unease before he shoved himself to his feet. He used the bed to steady himself, still feeling a bit unsteady and sluggish as he forced himself to straighten up and investigate the room for some tool to escape with.

His endeavors came up empty handed as the doctor was forced to retire back to the bed. To his own frustration, he was left weary and shaky from the small inspection. He slowly lowered himself to a comfortable (or as comfortable as he could get) position lying on his left side. The straps were an unpleasant ache digging into his hip that he shoved away as best he could. He supposed this was to be expected. He estimated it's been nearly thirty hours since he last had a proper meal, twelve between the time he ate and the time the anesthetic was used on him. That spot of tea to help him calm after the surgery he performed and relax him wasn't substantial enough to make a difference.

His body was protesting everything that had happened between that time period. The subtle shake of his hands and the cold chill that shivered across his body were symptoms he was well aware of.

Sleep was a temptress he cleverly eluded by distracting himself with a review of the events that led up to today. He noticed the distinct lack of Geoffrey's presence during the surgery and right after, and even now there was that jarringly noticeable  _ emptiness  _ that filled the room. Rarely has the specter been so absent in these last few weeks though Jonathan did acknowledge that usually if he had to perform a surgery, Geoffrey would vanish during that time. Maybe the specter was squeamish? It was an amusing thought to entertain and it helped him pass the time as he waited and listened for any sign or sound of his jailers returning. 

The echoing click of doors being opened and closed lured Jonathan off the bed, springing to action so quickly he nearly lost his balance, stumbling, he tucked himself against the wall beside the door and waited. The approaching footsteps halted short of the doorway, causing the doctor to tense with nervous anticipation as he waited with bated breath.

“Do not dally, Kingsby, I want our guest moved quickly. We have a schedule to keep.” Lord Redgrave called with all the air of a man disgusted with the company he kept. He heard the keys jingle as they were inserted into the lock, sliding the mechanism free. Jonathan waited, as soon as the door parted and he saw the flash of movement, his fist struck out, colliding with a bony jaw, forcing Lord Redgrave back into the adjacent wall. Jonathan darted forward, his feet carrying him down the hallway when two men stepped into his path. He swung on the first, elbow connecting with the side of their head, the noisy crack of bone was pleasing to his ears as he shoved his knee into his stomach and forced the assailant to the ground. 

The second man lunged at him, causing Jonathan to throw his hands out and grab him by his shirt collar, they wrestled and shoved each other back and forth into the narrow brick walls, butting heads that caused white bursts across Jonathan’s vision. He lost his footing just as a fist of retaliation sank into his stomach. He felt the air leave his chest as his body spasmed, causing him to buckle over and heave the scant contents of his stomach onto the expensive Italian leather of his assailant’s shoes. There was a grimace of obvious disgust as he was snatched by the back of his hair and dragged to look up at them.

Jonathan squirmed to get away but the first man he had assaulted had recovered and got back to his feet, his arms wrapped around the doctor’s torso, locking his arms against his sides as the second brandished a syringe with an unfamiliar liquid in it. He felt the color drain from his face as he started to struggle more frantically, kicking out at his assailants in refusal.

“No! Don’t!” He hissed, as the man behind him forcibly lifted him off the ground to try and stop his struggles but Jonathan only fought harder, causing them to shuffle backwards. 

“Stop fooling around Kingsby.” Lord Redgrave snapped as the needle was shoved into Jonathan’s outer thigh, delivering the dose of the drug into his system. The doctor flailed valiantly to wiggle free but he had a scarce chance of success as he was manhandled back into his prison. The man, Kingsby, was spitting venom and grumbling about his ruined shoes splattered in the bile of their prisoner. Lord Redgrave massaged his jaw with barely concealed fury welling in his eyes, a bloody swollen lip was a parting gift from the doctor as he was shoved into the chair in his cell and forced into compliance. 

Jonathan lacked the strength to resist as his arms were strapped down to the chair, his head hung limp as he blinked. His vision was besieged by pops of color and shifting blurriness before the blindfold from early was returned to his eyes, forcing him back into darkness.

“It’s a shame that it must come to this, Dr. Reid. You leave me no choice.” Lord Redgrave began, his fingers curled into Jonathan’s hair, furthering the messy state it was in as they clutched tightly, forcing his head to lift. “All you had to do was comply. Ascalon does not look kindly upon disrespect, and the disrespect you have shown me, that shall not go unpunished. It will, however, should you change your mind and agree to our terms, be dismissed to a minor transgression. An exceptional apology and a few favors will go a long way in your position.”

“Had I met a man so self absorbed as you, I’d have diagnosed that poor soul with an advanced stage of constipation.” Jonathan spat. A hard slap sent his vision white as Lord Redgrave bristled with anger at the insult.

“Savor those words, Dr. Reid and know they have brought this punishment upon you. You will have nobody else to blame for the consequences but yourself.” There was a sudden sharp turn as Lord Redgrave stalked off, calling from the hallway back to the two men. “You know what to do gentlemen.”

The door swung with an ominous groan before clicking shut once more but silence failed to follow as the two men proceeded to carry out whatever orders Lord Redgrave had handed off to them.

It didn’t quite catch on for Jonathan as to what the orders were necessarily. There was a series of movements, objects being shuffled and clank around and distant grumbling as the pair carried on. It wasn’t until they had finally left the hallway, presumably finished with their task that Jonathan noticed a change. To his mild annoyance, he could hear what sounded like a leaky pipe. It dripped slowly, like the hands ticking on a clock,  _ drip…...drip…….drip….. _ constant over several minutes, never changing. His irritation grew with every splash outside his cell, deafeningly loud in the oppression quiet that blanketed his senses. Once he acknowledged its existence, he couldn’t tune it out, that obsessive part of his brain honed in on it repeatedly until it made his shoulders jerk in growing frustration.

The noise aside, which was an errant thorn in Jonathan’s side, a continuous monotonous presence with every sharp splatter punctuated by prolonged quiet. He willed it to cease but seemed it only became more pronounced, and with it stirred another problem. An undeniable thirst that had taken him, with a mouth parched and lips dried with blood. He swallowed thickly, the bitter sour taste of bile and mucus coating his throat, a heightened awareness of just how uncomfortable he truly was. His arms ached where the leather bit into his skin, far too tight for him to slip this time, the reddened patches felt damp, whether or not that was his imagination or the fact he may have rubbed it raw and bloody from his twisting and shifting.

His only relief was when the drug finally kicked into his system and he was able to succumb to an artificial sleep, his head lolling to rest against his shoulder as he gave into it. 

  
  


Uncertain of how many hours had passed when he woke up, Jonathan found his foot bobbing impatiently as he was faced with another dilemma. His extensive years of medical service, performing long winded surgeries under questionable conditions and utilizing time consuming and delicate blood transfusion techniques that required constant observation, he had fostered an iron will and disciplined his body to endure numerous inconveniences. Fluid retention for biological disposal was perhaps one of the more necessary and most frustrating ones he had to endure. He will say, it was perhaps much easier when he was younger, to ignore the impulses but age had its drawbacks and his body wasn’t as young as it used to be, the decades of poor maintenance being one of them.

His foot bobbed impatiently, tapping the concrete as the incessant  _ dripping  _ continued just outside his door. From the sounds of it, they had placed a bucket beneath as it joined a puddle, becoming even louder in its splashing and filling his groggy thoughts with all sorts of colorful imagery that was the exact opposite of helpful.

His mouth felt far too dry for comfort with an acrid taste that settled, foul in the back of his throat. His tongue felt too large and heavy in his mouth as he tried to swallow dryly and grimaced instead when his throat felt like it had something stuck in it. He scowled into the darkness, blatantly ignoring the immense thirst that crept up in the back of his mind, a painful stomach wrenching ache of desperation. Both the rational and instinctive sides of his brain screamed at him to find something to sate it soon, the unlying alarm bells that bellowed in his thoughts  _ you are dying without it! You need water now!  _ He was well aware of the ticking hands that held his life in their grasp, how quickly the body would crumble without hydration to keep it alive. Food, as nauseous as it would leave him in its absence with the hunger pains that would cramp at his intestines until he was a curled up writhing mass, were a phantom foe that accompanied him during the war, far too familiar and unwelcoming but something he could ignore with practice. 

He was drawn from his thoughts by the distant approaching echo made faint by the brick and stone that separated him from the exterior world of his cell. The heavy footsteps were a warning as the man from earlier who’s handprints felt permanently imprinted upon his neck had briskly approached, swinging the door open with a menacing presence. He assumed this was what he got for his earlier stunt, Lord Redgrave sent his pet to deal with him.

“Wake up worm!” The man bore a sickening amount of amusement in his voice as he approached Jonathan, his massive hands gripped his hair and forced his head to lift. Seriously, Jonathan wondered, what as with everyone and their obsession with touching him? It wasn’t like he could see them at all with the blindfold so the effect they may have been looking for was lost on him. “Ascalon comes with a question and you better have the right answer for your sake.”

“I find in my life that questions rarely lead to the answers we enjoy the most.” Jonathan grunted, hearing the hiss of annoyance as a meaty fist sank into his stomach, causing it to clench and spasm painfully in a groan of protest. Jonathan let out a similar mournful groan and shook his head slowly.

“Ask your damn question then.” He spat, earning another fist in return.

“You hold your tongue, worm.” The man growled like a dog baring its teeth from the otherside of a gate. Jonathan was aware that Lord Redgrave was the master here and this man, no matter his presence meant to the situation, wasn’t allowed to bite unless said master gave the order. His actions were restrained by the very chain that leashed him. For that, Jonathan genuinely hoped he choked on it.

“Lord Redgrave demands your answer. Do you accept his benevolence?”

The laugh that left his throat was hysterical, a dry croak of amusement as he lifted his head and let it howl from his chest. “Ask Lord Redgrave if he’s ever heard of the phrase  _ delusions of grandeur? _ In which I suggest he seek immediate asylum for. Of course, after he gets his case of chronic constipation treated, I know a doctor who could help.”

Jonathan could only imagine the bulging vein throbbing in the man's neck in pure rage. The obscenity of his backlash was one the doctor regretted almost immediately but only in the fact Lord Redgrave wasn't present to hear the bitter sting of his words. The fist that buried itself into his midsection was the most painful he had ever felt, crippling agony that blurred his vision as his stomach twisted into a painful heave simultaneously as he gasped for lost air. The chair itself was forced backwards, wobbling unsteadily as the legs scooted loudly across the floor. His mortification was only secondary when he felt the warm wet heat of his bladder giving under the force of the blow. His head hung limply as he sucked in desperate gasps of air, and felt the sting of his eyes watering.

The man's anger seemed satisfied with a cruel and mocking laughter that filled the room. "Where'd that eager tongue go? You don't have much to say now, worm."

With that, he receded and left the room with the ear piercingly loud bang of the door. Jonathan felt his face burn as the agitating discomfort of wet clothing sank in, well aware that there was little he could do to prevent the inevitable when he had been confined and restrained. It didn't make the bitter sting of his pride lessen anymore or thwart the hot shame that grew in his chest with the knowledge of his mishap. 

On the other hand, it offered a concerning symptom for a condition that had been a significant worry on his mind this whole time. Time was hard to grasp in his current situation, but the sluggish weariness and constant fatigue was more than just a side effect of the drugs. His dry mouth, the sting of dry eyes and now this, which was accompanied with a potent scent that told his rational mind with all its years of medical expertise, that he was suffering severe dehydration. His earlier bouts of light headedness and the dull throb of an imminent headache were an additional concern he had to take into consideration.

Whether or not Lord Redgrave was aware that a prisoner required sustenance and fluids, or that he cared to at all, was beyond Jonathan. He didn't suspect the man to go so far as murder by such a cruel method, but should the doctor continue to refuse his advances, Jonathan was faced with the very real fear and consequences that he may end up dying down here before any sort of help came for him.

His head hung and shoulders sank in defeat as he focused on calming the more erratic set of his breathing. The painful panic that seized his chest began to surface as he considered the very stark reality that the next choices he makes may be his last. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed a heavy sigh, startled suddenly by the click of boots on the concrete. He stiffened and straightened up, his head swiveled as he searched for the sound, trying to discern which of Redgrave's lackies had come to kick him while he was down.

It was a bit late as Jonathan realized he hadn't heard the door open and close. Had one joined the beast of a man and simply never left? Did they get some sick kicks off of watching him unravel?

He jolted in his seat when the barest touch of leather clad fingers hooked his chin, gently raising his head with a tenderness in the contact. Jonathan mentally searched the room when that agonizingly familiar set of eyes fell upon him. He shattered in his seat, unraveled with relief as he sank back into the chair, the gentle caress of friendly fingers combed through his hair.

"Geoffrey." Jonathan murmured softly. He was answered with a second hand that patted his jaw gently. The fingers were mindful of the bruises and various other assumed injuries that littered his body already. Most of which were nothing more than abrasions and light hemorrhaging. Nothing dire quite yet. That didn't mean they hurt any less as the specter seemed to examine him, taking a moment to trace his fingertips along the back of Jonathan's hand as he inspected the raw skin on his arms from the belt straps. The pain wasn't so bad if he didn't move much. It would eventually go numb and he could forget it all.

"I'm sorry." He spoke up, regrettably. "A right awful mess I've found myself in."

There was a quiet shifting as Geoffrey adjusted his stance and curled his fingers around Jonathan's, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm not going to give into these bastards." Jonathan continued. "A man like Lord Redgrave will undoubtedly be paranoid about letting someone like myself walk about freely, whether I submit to his whims or not. There is nothing I can do to escape this nightmare."

The resignation in his voice was painful, a raw ball of emotion that clustered in the center of his throat and threatened to choke him as he breathed through the worst of it. A final farewell of sorts wasn't necessarily what he had planned this week, but neither was an impromptu abduction and imminent death. At least if he'd known, he would have prepared himself better.

Jonathan didn't know how long they remained like that, with Geoffrey beside him, brushing his fingers gently over his hand and the occasional squeeze to console his erratic and concerning thoughts. His head sagged as drowsiness reclaimed him, he made a valiant effort to stay awake but the tender petting motions of Geoffrey's palm over his hair was a soothing balm to his plights.

Jonathan next woke, alone and to the sound of approaching footsteps. He recognized multiple sets of feet through the grogginess of his thoughts as he raised his head and cringed as a muscle jumped painfully up his neck and into his jaw. He hissed through his teeth and flexed his jaw briefly before the door flew open with a noisy clang.

Lord Redgrave was an obvious presence as the two men lingered in the doorway. The delicate steps of the pompous man approached, a derisive sniff came with what Jonathan assumed was a look of disgust knowing the man. 

"I do hope this served as an attitude adjustment for you, Dr. Reid. I am going to ask you one last time." He snapped his fingers twice as the two men stepped into the room and moved to either side of Jonathan. He stiffened, straightening up in his seat against the protests of his aching back and shoulders. A contraption was placed on the arms of the chair that his hands this as were forced into, causing the leather straps to grate and bite into his arms, seemingly breaking skin with the force. A pained gasp left his chest as what felt like metal rings surrounded each individual finger. It wasn't until he felt the men begin to tighten them that he realized what they were actually for.

"You're a reasonable, intelligent man, Dr. Reid. Surely you are well aware of where this is headed. I'm offering you one final way out. Comply and you'll be forgiven and protected. Refuse and…" His voice trailed as one of the men tightened the screw applying a painful pressure to Jonathan's left hand. It wasn't enough to cause damage but it was just the right amount to allude to what will follow if he refuses.

"I'll be back shortly to hear your answer. Be a smart man, Dr. Reid." Lord Redgrave chuckled darkly before he stalked away with his lackies trailing at his heels like well trained pets.

Jonathan twitched his fingers thoughtfully, feeling for any give or leverage in the contraptions but they had been synched down enough to be uncomfortably tight. He worried about fighting them too much, the chances of breaking a finger within them was high if he wasn't careful, a mistake that could be career ending for a man of his position. That's assuming he'll be alive enough to continue said career after all of this. He heaved a heavy sigh of defeat and squeezed his eyes shut.

There wasn't any hope in this situation but bowing to the whims of somebody like Lord Redgrave was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Jonathan wasn't stubborn or bullheaded but given the fact he had little to actually live for, he would sooner die a free man than be forced into social slavery to someone of that unsavory ilk. He did not endure a war and an epidemic to end this way but fate was a grand design of miserable misfortune.

Jonathan was startled from his thoughts when he felt the contraption shift and the screws loosen suddenly. He blinked and focused, his shock turned to a knowing and weary smile. "Geoffrey." The specter was here, once again, and Jonathan was never happier as the first device was removed then tossed aside with reckless abandon. The second followed before the specter began quickly working the straps free. There was an apologetic pause as Jonathan grimaced, the leather pulling at his tender skin as each arm was released and he raised his hand to remove the blindfold.

The man was there, standing before him with the red shroud the thinnest it had ever been before. He offered his hands to pull the doctor to his feet and cradled Jonathan's wavering stance. His legs were unsteady as he straightened up, but Geoffrey was a sturdy presence as he hooked an arm around his waist and adjusted Jonathan's around his neck.

"As much as I appreciate your rescue efforts Geoffrey, how do you propose we leave this place? Nobody else can see you and I can hardly stand on my own." The specter turned to face Jonathan with an amused tilt of his head as if he had offered a snarky response and shrugged, dragging him towards the closed doorway.

Geoffrey made no effort to open the locked door, instead he reached a hand out and pressed his fingertips against the metal. Drawing a symbol in the air, an ethereal ripple like water on a placid lake spread out to the edges of the frame and lapped at the environment in a distorted wave. Jonathan was apprehensive as Geoffrey reaffirmed his grasp on the doctor and continued to guide them through the portal.

At first it felt like a blast of icy cold water, as if he had taken an unfortunate plunge into the Thames, the air left his lungs as he struggled to inhale. Geoffrey placed his palms against Jonathan's chest and held him, their feet continuing to move through what Jonathan realized was water, all around them. The sheer raw panic caused him to flail, forcing Geoffrey to grip his arm and squeeze, pressing down on the agitated skin made the doctor seize up and whimper. There was an apologetic expression in the set of Geoffrey's shoulders as he drew them towards the shadowy outline of shore. They continued their immortal walk, in darkness with only pale white lanterns that lined a stone path guiding them out of the water and an abyssal fog thicker than any London mists or countryside bog.

He made it several steps onto land as dizziness swarmed his vision. The burning ache of his lungs reminded him that he was not breathing and before he knew it, the ground rushed upon him quickly. The last thing he saw was Geoffrey, the red shroud was absent, a hard line of shadows that accentuated eyes in the shape of the starkest blue he had ever bore witness to and a firm press of lips that parted to call his name. The unmistakable roll of an Irish accent twisted the syllables up so sweetly, that as his eyes fluttered shut, he swore he saw the distorted shadows spread like wings above the specter. How truly strange it was, to finally see the face of death only to find he had fallen in love with it.


End file.
